


we sent love to follow wherever you go

by CyrusBreeze



Series: Baby of Mine [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyrusBreeze/pseuds/CyrusBreeze
Summary: Tony Stark hated funerals with a burning passion. He tried to avoid them like the plague, but people died, sometimes people that Tony was close to.And somehow, this funeral made Tony’s body ache more than any funeral he had attended, even his own mother’s.orThe one where Tony attends the funeral of his son’s parents.





	we sent love to follow wherever you go

**Author's Note:**

> My hand slipped. 
> 
> I wrote this in like 90 minutes while walking around my college campus. I make no promises about the quality, but I suggest grabbing a tissue. I cried like a baby while writing this. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have very limited knowledge of how funerals work. I’ve been to two funeral in my life, and both of them were for children, so I have no clue how adult funerals work. I tried to be intentionally vague, but if I got anything wrong please correct me. 
> 
> Content Notes: A massive theme is this fic is the loss of a parent, and the main event of this fic is a funeral. If either of these things trigger you, I suggest treading with caution. 
> 
> And, as always, let me know if I need to add another content note.

Tony Stark hated funerals with a burning passion. He tried to avoid them like the plague, but people died, sometimes people that Tony was close to. 

And yet, this funeral made Tony’s body ache more than any funeral he had attended, even his own mother’s. 

He stared at Peter. The boy was small, lean, and wiry. He reminded Tony so much of his own self at that age. He had been small, two years younger than his classmates, and socially awkward. Peter did, however, look just like Brady. The resemblance was uncanny. Sure, Tony could see some parts of Peter in himself, especially in Peter’s mannerisms, but there was so much Brady in Peter’s face and hair. 

Peter wasn’t crying. Instead, he was clinging tightly to who Tony could assume was his aunt. His eyes were downtrodden, and his face displayed intense grief, but he wasn’t crying. 

Tony adjusted wig and glasses. He prayed that no one would notice who he was and if they did, then they’d have enough dignity to honor the dead by not pointing it out. The last thing he needed was for the paparazzi to make this day any worse for Peter. 

The ceremony was small anyway, held in the tiny chapel of the funeral home. 

A hush fell over the already silent audience as the officiant stepped to the podium. 

“Good morning,” the man said. He was dressed in a suit and tie. “We are gathered here today to honor the life of Richard and Mary Parker.” 

And then, without warning, there was a loud, awful, gut wrenching wail. 

Tony only recognized the voice from videos, but he could recognize it anywhere. 

It was Peter. 

“Oh, Peter,” his aunt said, and Tony could hear her from where he was seated, just three rows back. “I’m so sorry love.” 

“Richard and Mary Parker were incredible pillars of our community,” the officiant continued. 

Tony tuned out the officiant as he watched his son sob. His aunt held him, rubbing his back slowly. Tony was mesmerized, and he was heartbroken. Watching his son cry felt like his own parents all over again. He remembered the pain and grief as freshly as if it had happened yesterday. 

“Both Richard and Mary Parker enjoyed poetry,” the officiant said, shifting Tony’s attention back to present. “One of their favorite poets was Emily Dickinson, and they requested that this poem be read at their memorial service.” The officiant cleated his throat. 

Peter shifted on his aunt’s lap. Perhaps he shared the same passion for poetry that his parents did.

“If I should die,  
And you should live,  
And time should gurgle on,  
And morn should beam,  
And noon should burn,  
As it has usual done.” 

Tony could see the way that Peter’s features softened. He was listening intently. 

“If birds should build as early,  
And bees as bustling go,–  
One might depart at option  
From enterprise below!  
‘Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand  
When we with daisies lie,  
That commerce will continue,  
And trades as briskly fly.” 

Tony recognized that look. It was the same one he had when he buried himself in something he loved after his parents death. It helped. It always helped. The passion and grief mixed and both were displayed so clearly on Peter’s face. 

“It make the parting tranquil  
And keeps the soul serene,  
That gentlemen so sprightly  
Conduct the pleasing scene!”

The look hadn’t left Peter’s face.

God, Tony loved his son, and his heart was broken for him. 

“Now,” the officiant continued. “Mary and Richard’s son has requested to say a few words.” 

Tony was shocked. He remembered his own parents funeral, fifteen years ago. At 11, he had been too terrified to speak. And yet, at six years old, Peter was preparing to give a eulogy for his parents. 

His aunt held Peter’s hand as he walked to the stage. She released his hand, and Peter smiled timidly at her. Then, he stepped up to the podium that had been adjusted for his height. 

“Hi, I’m Peter,” He said, and his voice cracked. 

“Everyday before bed, my mom and Dad used to read me a story. It was my favorite story in the whole world, even better than Harry Potter.” Peter chuckled to himself. “I wanted to read that story to you.” Peter opened a book. “It’s called, Wherever You Are, My Love Will Find You.” 

“We wanted you more than you ever will know  
so we sent love to follow wherever you go.  
It’s high as you wish it. It’s quick as an elf.  
You’ll never outgrow it…it stretches itself!” 

Peter smiled at that. Then, he continued. 

“So climb any mountain…climb up to the sky!  
Our love will find you. Our love can fly!  
Make a big splash! Go out on a limb!  
Our love will find you. Our love can swim!” 

And there it was, that precious face again. The face of concentration and passion and pain and grief. 

“It never gets lost, never fades, never ends…  
if you’re working…  
or playing…  
or sitting with friends.  
You can dance ’til you’re dizzy, paint ’til you’re blue…” 

Anther breathtaking, gentle smile. Peter loved this book. 

“There’s no place, not one, that my love can’t find you.  
And if someday you’re lonely, or someday you’re sad,  
or you strike out at baseball, or think you’ve been bad…”

Peter’s voice cracked again as he continued. 

“just lift up your face, feel the wind in your hair.  
That’s us, our sweet baby, our love is right there.  
In the green of the grass…in the smell of the sea…  
in the clouds floating by…at the top of a tree…  
in the sound crickets make at the end of the day…  
“You are loved. You are loved. You are loved,” they all say.

Peter was starting to cry again, and his poor fingers were shaking as he tried to turn he pages in the book. But he continued. 

“Our love is so high, and so wide and so deep,  
it’s always right there, even when you’re asleep.  
So hold your head high and don’t be afraid  
to march to the front of your own parade.” 

Peter was crying in earnest now. His shoulders were shaking and his voice was muddled by the sound of his tears. 

“If you’re still our small babe or you’re all the way grown,  
our promise to you is you’re never alone.  
You are our angel, our darling, our star…  
and our love will find you, wherever you are.  
You are loved.” 

Peter closed the book, and then he closed his eyes. 

“I love you mommy and daddy,” he said. 

And Tony broke at that. He had attempted to remain stoic the entire time, but he was crying now. He was crying harder than he had in years. Harder than he had at his parent’s funeral. Harder than he had on the last day that he saw Peter in person. He was sobbing. 

A blonde woman handed him the tissue box, and he took it, wiping furiously at his eyes. 

Peter stepped down from the podium. 

Tony tuned out the rest of the funeral, instead choosing to focus on Peter and his aunt and uncle. They were both comforting him. 

Peter was sobbing again, and Tony cried for the remainder of the time. 

After the funeral, came the receiving line. Tony froze, unsure of what to do. Then, he stepped forward and walked to where Mary, Ben and Peter were standing. 

He shook Ben’s hand and smiled at May before shaking her hand. Then, he squatted down until he was on level with Peter. 

“I know you don’t know me,” Tony said softly. “But I was friends with your Mom and Dad.” Tony wasn’t going to tell Peter the truth. It wasn’t the time or the place. 

To his surprise, his arms were suddenly filled with the small six year old. 

Tony tensed at first, then he relaxed into the boy’s hold. 

“I know who you are,” Peter said. “My mommy used to say that I had your eyes.” 

Tony froze at that. 

“It’s okay,” Peter continued. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Peter released him, and then Tony slowly stood up.

Perhaps one day, in twelve years or maybe longer, when Peter was old enough to contact him, Tony would be able to explain why he left that day. It was a combination of things: it wasn’t the right time, it wasn’t fair to May or Ben for him to just show up, Tony was terrified. And perhaps Peter would understand or maybe Peter wouldn’t. 

Tony inhaled sharply, then he stared at Peter for a long moment, memorizing the details on his face. He knew that this would probably be the last time he saw his son, for twelve years at least, and he wanted to keep every detail of his son’s face in his memory. 

He smiled at the boy. 

Peter returned a watery smile. 

Tony reached up and ruffled his hair like he imagined that good fathers did. 

Then, unlike what good fathers did, Tony turned around and walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I didn’t intend for Peter to know who Tony was, but my fingers just typed it and I didn’t want to take it out. 
> 
> I really didn’t intend for it to end on an angstier note than in began, so for that I’m sorry. 
> 
> Hopefully I’ll be getting a sequel up sometime soon. I’m committed to finishing the other 51, so we shall see how things go. 
> 
> Loved it? Hated it? Want to come to my house and ~~end my misery~~ kill me. Leave a comment! 
> 
> (I will get around to responding to them eventually. I’m a train wreck.)


End file.
